


When in Vegas

by ShibaScarf



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Vegas Wedding, drunk wedding, i'm trash and this is trash, max is one thousand percent done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShibaScarf/pseuds/ShibaScarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max regrets every decision in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When in Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently the only way i write boostle is all at once over the course of a few hours so welp. unedited, etc.
> 
> i swear it’s totally a coincidence that this fic is about marriage, haha. i’ve been planning it for about a week.
> 
> AND NOW FEATURING GORGEOUS FANART: http://boogerbuttle.tumblr.com/post/122713561027/scenes-here-n-there-from-shibascarfs-fic-here

As soon as he heard Booster and Beetle were back from their mission, Max called them up to his office.  He had on his sternest frown when they walked in through the door.

They looked tired, Max observed, but distinctly without an air of guilt.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing at the two chairs in front of his desk.  They did so.  Both were dressed in their civvies, which for Booster meant a t-shirt with his own face on it and some jeans.  For Ted, it meant the usual bizarrely patterned outfit that was part fifties businessman and part nightmare.

“We didn’t even unpack yet, Max,” Booster began to complain.  “How could we have possibly pissed you off already?”

“When I sent you off to Vegas-” Max began, and Ted cut him off.

“Sent us by train, by the way Max, and it was a three day trip both ways.  I think we would have rather flown in a rusty airplane or taken the Bug or the teleportation tubes.  Don’t think we didn’t notice your attempt to get rid of us for a solid week.”

“WHEN I SENT YOU OFF TO VEGAS,” Max continued, feeling something in the back of his jaw pop from grinding his teeth so hard, “I gave you three simple directions.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Booster and Ted said in unison.  Max held up one finger and looked at them expectantly.

“Uh,” Ted said, looking to Booster for assistance.  Booster shrugged.

“Absolutely no gambling and stay covert until the Royal Flush Gang makes their move,” Max supplied in exasperation.  “It wasn’t supposed to be difficult.  God knows you two are a disaster together, but I figured this would be an easy enough job for you to handle without consequence.”

“We did,” Booster protested.  “The Gang’s in jail now, and we didn’t destroy any buildings or create any public relations nightmares for the team.  Nobody even recognized me on the train.”  (This last statement was delivered with a bit of a pout, which Max chose to ignore.)

“So then this,” Max said irritably, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out  first class mail envelope, “isn’t something you’d consider a p.r. nightmare?”

The three of them stared down at the envelope, which was about the size of an office folder and clearly marked with an address from Las Vegas.  Max reached inside and pulled out a DVD and photo, which was framed in rhinestones with a tacky superman logo at the top.

The photo itself was an an image of Ted and Booster, in full vigilante garb and looking like they’d stumbled out of a bar fight, with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders and giving the photographer a thumbs up.  Immediately next to them was a harried looking Superman impersonator.

There was a tense silence.

“I don’t remember this, exactly,” Booster finally said, “but we are missing about six or seven hours or so.”

“There was a lot of free booze at the casino,” Ted agreed slowly.

“This was after the fight, though,” Booster said brightly.  “It would have to be, if we’re all beat up and in costume.  There wasn’t a rule about staying covert  _after_ the fight with them.”

“So, you’re telling me,” Max said slowly, “that you don’t remember fighting the Royal Flush Gang?  Did you just…. wake up and read in the papers that they had been captured and decided the mission was done?”

There was another silence, this time a guilty one.

“Anyway,” Booster said, “if that’s it, we’re not in too much trouble, right?  So we found a guy dressed like Superman in Vegas and took a cheesy picture with him.  That’s not the public relations disaster you’re making it out to be.”

Ted was looking pale as he stared down at the DVD.  Max reached into his desk again and pulled out a portable disc player.  He cracked open the DVD case, slipped the disc inside the player, and hit play.

“I see that Ted is beginning to grasp the situation,” he said dryly.  “Let’s clear it up for you, Booster.”

The video began playing with a title card that looked to be slapped together in Windows Movie Maker.  It read, in simple white lettering on a black background, “The Marriage of Theodore Kord and Michael Carter”.

Ted swore.  Max paused the video and waited a few moments, just to really soak in Booster’s stunned face, before hitting play again.

The camera work was shoddy, and started off quite blurry before slowly coming into focus, but there were Ted and Booster, standing in a tacky red, blue, and yellow chapel, on either side of the minister (the one dressed as Superman).  Both were wearing “I <3 Las Vegas” shirts in Blue and Gold.  Both were also clearly inebriated.

“Is it recording?” Ted asked, blinking at the camera.  Booster waved enthusiastically.

“Hi Max!  Hi Tora, hi Guy!  Hi, L-Ron!”  Booster pointed at the camera, leaning heavily on Ted (awkwardly, because of the height difference) and beaming.  “Bea, you owe me ten bucks!  He said yes!”

“Max is going to kill us,” Ted said, waving at the camera and not looking even the slightest bit remorseful.

“Just to be clear,” the minister interrupted, “you two do have the wedding license filled out?”

Booster pulled the aforementioned papers out of his pockets and unfolded them.

“And I’m taking your last name,” he said to Ted, firmly.  “I would so much rather be Michael Kord than Michael Carter.”

The Booster across the table from Max nodded in agreement.  Max glared at him.  As the ceremony began properly, Max hit the fast forward button.

“You’re skipping past the vows,” Ted complained.  

“You can watch them later,” Max growled.  “Once was enough for me.  Believe me when I say they were embarrassing and riddled with jokes at each other’s expense.” 

Max hit play just in time to catch the tail end of Ted’s proposal, which apparently involved the words “whoopee cushion”.  Split seconds afterward, the camera shook and fell over as an explosion appeared to rock the chapel.

“Shit,” Booster yelled, off-screen, “We’ll be right back!”

A short jump-cut later, the two were back on screen (camera having been righted), wearing their costumes, and looking incredibly disheveled from the fight but no less drunk.  The minister looked much like Max felt, which was to say that he seemed to be regretting whatever decisions in life that had led him to this.

“Do you have rings to exchange?” Superman-Knock-off asked.  Booster laughed and made a big show of sliding his Legion ring onto Ted’s finger.

“So that’s how that happened,” the Booster in Max’s office mumbled.

“Not really practical at all,” Ted agreed.  “You fight crime with that, dummy.  I couldn’t use that as a wedding band.”

Back on-screen, Superman was running through the usual spiel about objections to the union.  Max ground his teeth again.

“Okay, say it like we wanted,” Booster prompted Superman.

Superman looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

“In the name of truth, justice, and the American way,” he said dryly, “I now pronounce you married partners.  You may now… kiss the Beetle.”

Booster whooped and dipped Ted into a kiss.

Max hit stop.

“I expect this shit from Booster,” Max said irritably (and ignoring the protest that came in response).  “But you, Ted?  After all that fuss over Booster marrying that old lady for her money?  I thought marriage was more serious to you.”

Ted looked anywhere but in Max’s eyes.

“Ignoring the flagrant secret identity issues here,” Max said wearily, “I now have to worry about media coverage and legal headaches from the divorce proceedings, not to mention the H.R. nightmares.”  He picked up his desk phone and began dialing.  “Hold on one moment, I can call up my best lawyer.  I have his number memorized at this point.”

“Well, actually,” Booster said, at the same time that Ted coughed nervously.

Max paused.  Considered their reactions, with narrowed eyes.

“No,” he said, with dawning horror, phone forgotten.  “You’re kidding me.  You want to stay married?  Is this another scheme?  Are you doing this for tax reasons?  You can tell me if you’re doing it for tax reasons.”

“I don’t even pay taxes,” Booster murmured.  Max looked at Ted, pleading.

“I did say yes,” Ted pointed out.  “And I have kind of been sleeping with him off and on for about three years now.”

“Get out,” Max said.  “We’re not having this conversation, and I do not want to know any of the details.  Get out of my office.”

Ted retrieved the DVD from the disc player, picked up the photo and DVD case, and stood up to leave.  Booster leaned forward in his chair.

“Actually, Max, I was wondering if we could get some time off?  You know, for our honeymoon.”

“GET. OUT.”


End file.
